Life Can Start Anew
by TheeMaddHattter
Summary: Pitch starts dreaming. Who would be all over this situation? Why Sandy would of course! (Based on xXRochiRyuzakiXx's A Life Long Forgotten)
1. Pitch's Light

Though this work may be written by me, it's parallel and completely inspired by my friend xXRochiRyuzakiXx 's story, **A Life Long Forgotten**. If you are to read this piece, I hope you also take the time to read her beginning and continuation of the same story, in Pitch's perspective. Hers is completely fabulous and I highly recommend it, and will paste a link at the bottom. For now, here it is in Sandy's point of view.

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Pitch's Light

Sanderson hung over the side of his airboat peacefully, staring down at the world below. The sun had set on Beijing, but Beijing showed no signs of it. The streets were still as active as ever. The Sandman smiled dreamily at the families still milling about. His golden tendrils radiated out of him and his boat. The children below had extremely excited dreams. The Chinese New Years festival began the next day. More than a few of the dreams fluttered around and on the boat. He gazed lazily at the golden dragons dancing before him. Beautiful. They were among his favourite this year. The child had a very detailed imagination. He pulled a small wand out of the air and guided the dragons in a dance with it, resting his head in his other hand. He hoped the child enjoyed the dream. It was his new favourite of the night.

He stopped to watch a few more for the next hour, changing little things here and there, before deciding to head back to his palace once more. He pulled his boat into it's raised dock slowly, and proceeded to slink off of it. He formed a door to lead him to the center of the ever changing fortress. This was the one room that never changed position in his castle. Right in the heart is where it stayed. Where it belonged. He had an intricately decorated fireplace in the center of the far wall. (No matter which direction he entered from, it was always the far wall.) Surrounding the fireplace, were shelves upon shelves of books. Only his favourite books dwelled in this room. Given that it was his favourite room, he figured it was only right that the best of his book collection took up residence there. He didn't put them there, they simply grew from the walls. The palace was a combination of the ever changing human subconsciousness as a whole. The entirety of humanity, combined into a peaceful chaos. The center room, was Sanderson's alone. Only his subconscious made up this particular room, so everything was the way he needed it to be. It wasn't necessarily always what he _wanted_ it to be, but the subconscious didn't need to cater to desire. The rest of the room had seemingly randomly placed furniture and knickknacks that would make no sense to an outsider, but made perfect sense to the spirit of dreams. He floated to a chair that sat beside the fireplace, sat down and began to nap.

He thought the blinking light had been a part of his odd dream, but when the Sandman opened his eyes, he saw it there was actually a light flashing at him from across the room. He stared at it interestedly for a moment. It wasn't an alarm light, those were red. It was a steady flash of green. He floated over and touched it. Upon contact, as he knew would occur, the light flashed and a door opened up to a hallway, in which the light guided him along. He had to keep up to avoid turning into an incorrect path. He needed to see which room this particular light would lead.

After only a few minutes, the light deposited him into a room, and promptly blinked away, as expected. It was the globe room. He stared at the towering sphere in confusion. He circled around it, detecting no problem, and stood back in wonder. There appeared to be no reason for a warning light. He couldn't see anything out of place. There didn't to be any sort of issue at all. He sat down in the only chair in the room and sighed, going through a list of possibilities in his head. None of them seemed to apply to this situation. Suddenly, an idea smacked him upside the head. Literally. The palace had thrown it at him. He rubbed the back of his head, where it had entered, and took a second to mull it over. It seemed to be a legitimate idea, so he followed its lead. He walked over to the large cabinet that resided in a far corner of the room, and pulled out a smaller, and dustier, version of his Guardian globe. The only difference other than the size, was the light pattern. It had thousands and thousands fewer illuminated points, either red or blue. Red indicated awake, while blue indicated asleep. And they were placed differently. It was a map of spirits, instead of children. He rarely glanced at it. It depicted, instead of belief, the conscious and unconscious spirits of the world. It was completely unique. He'd made it long before his days of companionship with the rest of the Guardians. He hadn't needed it since their appearance. He was no longer so lonely. He looked at it in contemplation, still unaware of the problem. He inspected the lights carefully, searching for the cause of the little green light.

He brought it back to the center room to study. After half an hour or so, Sandy finally realized the not-so-much-of-a-problem. The light had illuminated simply because of a new change. A little light, that had always been red as far as he knew, had, in fact, changed. Pitch's light.

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A Life Long Forgotten: s/9550591/2/A-Life-Long-Forgotten ((to use the link, put fan fiction . net forward slash before the s, without the spaces.))


	2. A New View

If you are reading this story, I hope you've also read **A Life Long Forgotten** by xXRochiRyuzakiXx. This chapter parallels her third chapter.

* * *

A New View

Sanderson Mansnoozie was ecstatic, to say the least. It seemed too good to be true. **The **Pitch Black was dreaming, and he might get to bear witness. He paused his preparations to the air boat. Was this considered stalking? He thought on that question for a couple seconds before shrugging and deciding he didn't care. It was his job to watch over dreams and he was very well going to keep on doing it. Even if it was someone he knew wouldn't be pleased with his eavesdropping. He quickly hopped in and pulled the boat out of dock. The faster he could get to the lair of the Boogeyman, the better. Wouldn't be any fun if he woke up before Sandy could get a glimpse.

As he arrived, he parked his boat just to the left and approximately thirty feet above the corroded bed covering the hole in the ground. This would be the perfect spot to view. He checked the globe that he'd brought along with him. Pitch's light was still blue. He smiled at it before going to rest over the side of the boat like normal. It was his favourite position to be able to look down at the dreamer, and up at the dream. He took a deep breath and silently called the dream up from the depths, to take form in front of his eyes.

The dream had sand that was darker than his usual stunning gold. It was fairly dark bronze, not black as some would expect. There was pitch, standing proud and strong, and just behind him, was a little girl. She seemed to be playing with something fairly interesting on the ground. Sandy smiled brightly at the little image. He decided to give her something else to play with, mixing up some of his brilliant gold to make little butterflies. He sent them into the dream and watched, as the little golden wings fluttered past Pitch. The little girl, of course enthralled by the shimmery gold, ran past him, trying to catch one. The Sandman smiled contentedly at her. This was, of course all in normal time for him. He knew that for the dreamer, each movement was delayed several minutes. By the time Sandy finished with the dream, Pitch himself was likely to have only experienced the girl rushing past him. He watched in fascination as the little girl, who had just paused for a moment with the lightning bugs, glanced over her shoulder, and smiled warmly at the still frozen figure of Pitch. Sandy could not make out her features with from the small sand figure, but he imagined her to be quite beautiful in a very young way.

He watched in quiet sadness as the picture before him faded away. The sleeper was likely to wake soon. Sandy did not want to be caught spying. He had no reason to invoke the anger of the Boogeyman. He stared at the now empty space in front of him and sighed. He was pleased to have had the opportunity to witness such a rare event, but it had left him with just as little insight to the dark spirit's past and soul, as he had had previously. Who was the little girl? Who could be important enough to be recalled in from the depths of Pitch Black's subconscious? He feared he'd never know the answer. He wondered vaguely, if Pitch himself knew her identity. Dreams often bring things forth from depths so unreachable inside oneself, that even the dreamer can be unaware of their existence. Maybe she was just created out of longing for things that could or might have been? Maybe she was someone he knew before he was Pitch Black? Maybe she was a long lost daughter or niece that Pitch missed? As he steered his way back to the palace, he thought about all these things. He didn't think he would ever get the chance to ask the man himself, but he would always be able to make up impossible theories in his mind. They might keep him content.

Sandy docked his boat about an hour later, as the sun rose over the Pacific, making the sand glitter vibrantly, throwing of brilliant colours. He made his way back to the center room again, calling on a colourful fire to match the light show outside. He went to the bookshelf to grab a random favourite book and mull over his new information in the back of his mind.


	3. A Little White Lie Never Hurt, Right?

A'kay so here's the next thing. A bit more of my headcanon Sandy leaks in here, so if you don't like hard core to the book Sanderson, then this probs ain't yo thing. As always, this story is based off xXRochiRyuzakiXx's **A Life Long Forgotten**, so go check it out :3

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The next day, North called a meeting. This was certainly not an abnormal occurrence. North liked to check up on the rest of them. Make sure they were doing alright. It made him feel better to act like a leader. It made him chuckle. The other Guardians often forgot Sanderson was their elder, having been there to look out for the children a millenium previous to their arrival. Occasionally, Tooth would come to him for advice, but he was mostly the crazy man in the background. He didn't mind though. The position suited him well, and he could not have asked for better companions.

As the sandman lazily prepared the airboat, he thought about what he might tell them about Pitch, and his new discoveries. He didn't want to alarm them, and he certainly didn't want them to confront the Boogeyman about it. That would feel like betrayal, even though he knew Pitch was not his ally. Sandy giggled at the thought, imagining sitting in a cafe with the shade, drinking tea and listening to his problems. The fit of giggles was not to be contained during flight. He laughed a long time. Seeing as he never shared his jokes, he assumed other spirits thought he was insane. Maybe he was. That was perfectly okay with him.

When he finally pulled his boat to park above the Pole, he was already late for the dinner. North certainly threw festive dinner parties, and Sandy was looking forward to it. He drifted in through a window on his platform. The others were seated around the table, laughing and sharing drinks. The Sandman smiled at the way they were sitting. Posture certainly reflected personalities. North, at the head of the table, sat in a strong position, while still seeming to remain fluid. Bunnymund, who was at his right seemed almost stiff, but if you looked closely, you could tell he was very comfortable with it. Tooth sat one over, to his right. She sat cross-legged in her chair, leaning forward and smiling. Last but not least, Jack sat across from her, but not directly on the seat. He sat on top of the backrest, letting his bare feet rest on the actual cushion, which was frozen now. The seat to the left of North, was left open for him, out of Jack's respect for the silent man. It was greatly appreciated. He created a couple pillows to put on the seat so he could be level with the rest of them, and pulled his seat forward.

"Sandy! How nice of you to join us!" laughed the host

Sandy smiled, shrugged, and flashed a couple Z's on to indicate that he'd fallen asleep, which wasn't really a lie. He had slept just before coming over. He didn't have a very good symbol for sorry, so this worked, too.

Jack chuckled beside him "We were just talking about your funny sleeping habits. Suppose it comes with the territory, huh?"

Sanderson turned to him and grinned, nodding enthusiastically. He began flashing symbols to explain to the frost spirit how they worked, but Jack was so new that he could barely decipher any of the language. Even North and Toothiana were not extremely good at it. Bunnymund was nodding appreciatively, as he watched. He had seemed to pick up on Sandy's method of communication rather easily, and now was a pro.

He began to decipher them for the new boy. "He says it comes from the sleep energy that radiates off the humans when he messes with their dreams for a while. The dreams start to mix in his subconscious and pull into him sleep to tame the entirety of the human subconscious."

Jack looked at him in amazement. "You mean humanity's whole dreaming mind fights with your subconscious? Doesn't that hurt?"

Sandy thought about it for a moment and shrugged, flashing his answer at Bunny.

"He says, it used to give him splitting headaches before he knew us, but it doesn't hurt anymore."

Jack shook his head, clearly impressed. Sanderson smiled softly at him. Jack seemed to look up to him. It made him happy. He nodded his head slightly at him, as if to bow. North and Toothiana had watched this exchange silently. Tooth suddenly spoke up

"What have you been up to lately, Sandy?" looking at him with the usual gleam in her eye.

He hesitated. How could he tell them? Should he tell them? It had been so private. It hadn't been his story to witness, so how could he possibly share it? He didn't have long to think, as they were all focused on him. He quickly shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. It was a normal response. None of his companions questioned him any further. The conversation shifted off of him and on to the rest of them. He sat back as they and listened, rarely interjecting. He was in awe of how blissfully unaware they were of his lie. It hurt his heart dearly.

When he returned home hours later, he sat outside on the dock to contemplate his actions.


	4. It's My Fault After All

HEY THERE. So in this chapter, Pitch and Sandy finally have a lil get together, and in order to do the dialogue correctly, the author of Pitch's parallel story, **A Life Long Forgotten**, xXRochiRyuzakiXx worked on this chapter, and probs a couple in the future, with me directly and wrote in Pitch's stuff. The same dialogue is also used in her story so, GO GIVE HER PROPS AND STUFF CAUSE SHE'S COOL, YO.

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When the sun went down, Sandy finally got up off the dock. He'd been sitting for hours, still feeling no better about his lie than when he'd landed. He tunneled to his center room and floated in slowly. He was quite mentally exhausted. It felt like it'd been more than a few hours since he'd last slept. He was looking forward to sitting down in front of his hearth and reading a nice classic. It would be lovely. Just before he reached the entrance of the room, he felt something was off. He looked around for a moment, trying to see what had made him wary. He realized that the sand surrounding the door was darker. I had a greenish bronze tint to it. As if it was tarnished. His eyebrows shrunk together. Why would that happen? His sand was incapable of developing tarnish. It was protected by layers of magic that even the Sandman himself did not fully understand. He pushed open the door slowly, afraid of what he would find. It would have to be quite powerful to affect his castle. Especially this room.

At first glance, nothing looked out of place. It was exactly the same as when he'd left, save the colour change. He scanned it again, knowing something had to be wrong. Only upon this second glance, did he notice the dark shade in his chair by the hearth. In that one moment, his emotions plummeted from a dark fear, to a deep sorrow, and then to a mighty rage at the man. He was seated in _his_ chair, in _the only room_ that reflected nothing but his most inner thoughts. He felt violated. He felt invaded. Then, suddenly, he felt calm. It was okay. He could sit there. It was okay, because Sandy had done the same thing, hadn't he? He had invaded Pitch's inner being, much like this. Once again, he only felt melancholiac and emotionally drained.

The Boogeyman finally looked up in his direction, even though he had known he was there as soon as the door had appeared. Sandy only looked sadly at him. He drifted over, and fashioned Pitch a new chair to better suit his proportions, gesturing to it in hope that the shade would leave his. To Sandy's luck, he took the offer and traded his chair for the new one.

"Forever the gentleman, Sanderson." A disturbingly smug smirk played across the taller man's face as he settled back down.

The Sandman nodded and shrugged as he took his own seat back. He split his attention by slowly working his golden sand across the room to fix whatever damage had been done to the interior. He then signaled a question mark to the shade, clearly asking for the reason behind his visit, even though he suspected he already knew.  
"Oh, I think you know exactly why I'm here." That signature grin glittered in the warm light, the uneven teeth just as unnatural in his home as they were in Pitch's mouth. "I believe you paid me a small stop a few days ago."

Sanderson's shoulders drooped slightly more. Of course. 'He thinks I created the dream. Why wouldn't he? What reason would he have not to blame me?' He thought about what to tell the thin man carefully, creating a teapot and a few cups while he could, offering one to his guest.

He began flashing his symbols slowly, making sure Pitch could decipher them first. When the Boogeyman waved him on, as if bored he sped up slightly. He started to explain the light, and then the globe, and his excitement, soon blasting into a full fledged story, even getting into the more recent events with the Guardians. As he was 'talking', Pitch simply sat there and stared at him with the calm glare that he always seemed to adorn. As he finished, he looked up at the man sheepishly, quite afraid of his reaction. The shade's odd silvery-gold gaze bored into him with a judgement that made him flinch. Pitch blinked slowly and raised a brow in doubt.

"You're telling me that you did nothing to tamper with my subconscious? That you didn't throw that girl into my dreams?" The older man sipped quietly at his tea. When he spoke again, his voice was a low, menacing rumble. "You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?"

The Sandman had a desperate look about him. He threw his cup over his shoulder, knowing it would dissolve before it hit the ground, and leaned forward, rubbing his temples. He looked up with a frantic gleam in his eye, needing to be believed. He quickly signaled something along the lines of "I really didn't do that! I didn't add anything except for..." he paused, thinking about what it was that he'd changed. He snapped up quickly, signalling "Butterflies. I added butterflies."

He waited for what felt like forever, his chest tight with frustration. Finally, the Nightmare King's stoney scowl softened and his eyes widened slightly. There was an innocence there, a real fear, that Sandy had never really seen before. Pitch nodded slightly, to his amazement, and muttered a quiet, "Alright."

You could see a weight physically being lifted off the Sandman's shoulders. His back straightened ever so slightly, and his eyes lit up just a little bit. They now reflected a small portion of the room around him, which had now been fully covered back in gold, aside from a small patch where the Nightmare King sat. He looked curiously at his guest. He had a question, though he was fairly frightened to ask it. His symboled words resembled "May I ask you something, about the dream?"

The man beside him stiffened visibly. He seemed to be conflicted about how to respond. Sanderson waited patiently, not wanting to push the subject. Just when he was pretty sure, based on Pitch's expression, that the answer would be a definite "no", a strong but unsure "If you must," broke the silence.

After a slight hesitation, Sandy silently asked, "So you also do not know who she is?" He sat back and tried not to visibly cringe. He did not want to appear as an enemy here. He wished only to offer his help. He braced himself for the anger that was sure to be directed towards him. A tense and irritated sigh was all he got.

"No." Pitch frowned at the glimmering floor, appearing to be deep in thought.

Sandy frowned in consideration. His ideas from before flickered through his mind. Sister? Daughter? Niece? Childhood friend? As he asked himself about theses things, he wondered if this man was anyone before he was Pitch Black. Sanderson himself had history before his immortalization. All of the Guardians did. What about Pitch? If he did, did he remember it? These were all questions he was too afraid to ask. It seemed he didn't have to worry about asking, though. The Boogeyman, in an abrupt switch of attitudes, stood from the chair and sneered.

"I shouldn't even have come." Sandy was suddenly nose to nose with a very angry looking Pitch, who growled out a threatening, "You will stay out of my business and my head from now on. No exceptions," before entering the dimly lit corner he must have arrived in. The sand grew dark and the man vanished, just as quickly as he had come.

Sandy just sat in his chair and sighed, hoping the shade knew he could always find help here.


	5. The Second Invasion

Ohkay so let me say again, this is based on xXRochiRyuzakiXx's A Life Long Forgotten. This is in Pitch's POV and I highly recommend you read it. Please. DO THE THING. JUST GO READ IT. TRUST ME A'KAY? IT'S GOOD AND SHE SHALL NOT DISAPPOINT. Oh and btdubs, so you don't have to look it up: **Ljósálfar** (Old Norse "Light Elves", singular **Ljósálfr**) HAVE FUN AND READ ON ;3

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Sanderson stared out the window of the library. It was currently the east wing of the castle. It was by far the biggest room he had. It expanded from the top of a wide tower, then down a couple miles into the earth. It contained every book ever written, published or forgotten, scrolls from long before binding. If there was a story, it grew here. Sandy had a door open at all times to this room. Any wandering spirit or shade was welcome as long as they were willing to follow the rules. No shouting, no food, no fighting, and no taking the books. If someone did not follow those simple rules, they were instantly transported just outside of the castle.

The only people in the library currently, were a few fairies, a dwarf, and a Ljósálfr that was visiting earth, all of which were reading in lower floors. The Sandman sat at the highest window, thinking about the events of the past few days. He wanted to help Pitch. He truly did. He didn't think the shade deserved to be completely forgotten and alone. This dream of his must have been haunting his consciousness, and he didn't seem to be allowing the wound to heal. His light had been red ever since his visit to the Boogeyman's lair. He **needed** sleep, but wasn't getting it. Sandy sighed and his head hung. 'He probably won't sleep because he thinks I'll mess with him,' he thought dejectedly. 'I just want to help.' But, of course, the Nightmare King would not accept help from him, his exact opposite, his rival. It made him sad. Of all people, Sanderson knew best that sleep could be a balm on a festering cut. He'd slept for two straight centuries to stop the pain that piggybacked on the human consciousness that thrashed within him. Sleep could remedy old rivalries, cure hatred, and even resurrect old memories. If only he could get Pitch to actually do the deed.

The Sandman shook his head and turned from the window. He straightened up, looked to a blank wall, and tunneled back to his centre room. He sat down in his chair with a cup of tea, and decided to formulate a plan.

* * *

Two naps, and several kettles of tea later, Sandy had an idea. It was potentially completely idiotic and dangerous, but it might solve the sleep problem. He grabbed the smaller globe, and made his way to his plane. There was no reason to take the airboat for this.

* * *

He landed softly at the entrance to the Boogeyman's lair. It was good he was a master of silence, because this would require absolute stealth. If he was discovered, Pitch would likely kill him, again, if he could muster the strength, which Sanderson suspected he'd be capable of. He hopped out of the plane, checked the globe for a final time, grabbed an aurelian pouch containing a strong mixture of sleeping powder, and quietly hovered down the tunnel under the bed. He landed noiselessly on the first bridge he could see. He hung over the edge and looked around, trying to locate Pitch. He had to search for a minute, the shade was blending in well with the harsh shadows splayed about the cavern. He drifted from landing to landing, trying to get above the Boogeyman. Finally, Sandy saw him sink to the floor, bringing his knees to his chest. He seemed panicky, anxiety ridden, almost. It made Sanderson's heart hurt. He didn't want to see anyone's spirit broken. No one, not even Pitch Black, deserved that.

Sanderson floated so he was directly overhead the man, and took out the pouch. He gently sprinkled the magic over him, and waited patiently, until his grey eyelids drifted shut.


	6. Guilt's Pain that Heals None too Quickly

Okey doke, here's the next installment, as always, I hope you're keeping up with xXRochiRyuzakiXx's version of this story in Pitch's POV, given that it is hers to begin with. We have a few more headcannons here but it should mostly be smooth sailing ahead ^ ^

* * *

In a matter of minutes following Pitch's retirement, A bronze picture appeared in front of the Sandman, still not the gold he was so used to. Sandy stared at it in confusion. It appeared to be blank. He couldn't see any people or things. Then, he saw a slight disturbance in the sand. He studied the moving figure very closely for a moment, before understanding that it was the Boogeyman's profile, only he didn't seem to be wearing his normal black robes, but armour instead. Sanderson figured he must be standing in the dark. A few breaths later, the picture started to shake, as if it had been struck by sudden sound. 'It must be pretty loud', thought the Sandman, 'If it were to ripple through the sand.' The shaking began to ripple throughout the picture, the epicenter being opposite of the iron clad shade. His outline began to become clearer, indicating a new light source within the dream. The Nightmare King didn't appear to take the new illumination kindly. He turned and ran from it, as might be expected from a shade. There seemed to be other things in the fading darkness, but all of them were unfamiliar to Sandy.

He hadn't even realized he'd been drifting around with the image in front of him, as one might walk with a book in hand. The only thing that enlightened him to this fact, was that he ran into a wall, and promptly fell to the ground. The dream began to wilt, and he didn't have long until it was over. He conjured some steps up to the nearest bridge, each one withering as he stepped to the next. Two thirds of the way to the top, a sudden noise made him freeze. He looked over his shoulder, only to see Pitch standing up. His muscles un-knotted, and he sprinted up the last steps, laid down on the cold bridge, and peeked over the ledge.

The Boogeyman was stooping down to pick up a fallen object. Sanderson couldn't see the contents of his palm from the distance, but he saw that it was being clutched to, harshly. It gave off a slight shine, leading Sandy to believe it must be metal. Pitch stood and stared down at it for a minute, before hiding it away in his billowing robes, and stealing away down an abyss-like tunnel.

Needless to say, the dream spirit high-tailed it out of that cavern so quickly, he was barely a blur of gold flying out the crack in the ceiling. He hopped into the one seat plane and took off.

* * *

When he landed back on the flight strip of the palace, he could feel sleep pulling at his eye lids. Over the last two or three centuries, the human subconsciousness had grown much more restless. What with the invention of the steam engine train, then the motor car, then the airplanes, everything became much more fast paced. The humans had to go and get in a big old hurry. Dreams had become much more complex and worried, and therefore the subconsciousness that rested within Sanderson Mansnoozie became a slightly more difficult burden to bear. He had to sleep more often now than he'd had to any time after those first centuries. He made sure the plane was safely away, tunneled to the center room, and fell asleep in the bed that was already made up for him.

* * *

Sandy was in trouble. Huge trouble. Enough trouble to span across the entirety of North America plus Hawaii. As he was preparing to go out and visit Australia for the evening, he noticed that he was no longer in possession of his usual magic pouch. The issue was not that he did not have the powder,for he had plenty, but instead it had been left in, of course, Pitch's cavern. He'd left it on the bridge when the shade woke up. How could he have been so _stupid_? The Boogeyman had already found it no doubt. It's difficult to miss gold in a palate of black and white. There would be no doubt in his mind that Sandy had altered his dreams, that he'd spied and invaded his personal space. There was no way to hide now. He would make this trip, and Pitch would probably already be here when he returned.

Sanderson, of course, had none of his usual vigor and excitement when he helped the dreams along that night.


	7. How do you Help a Guy who Hates You?

Hay thur~ As you may have been aware, Rochi and I just started up school again and therefore hadn't had much time to do the thing, so sorry for the wait. This is the longest chapter so far, methinks so maybe it was all worth it *shrugs*. Great. Glad we had that talk. On a much lighter note, I'M TELLING YOU RIGHT NOW THAT IF YOU HAVE NOT READ A LIFE LONG FORGOTTEN BY XXROCHIRYUZAKIXX THEN I'M KINDA WORRIED ABOUT YOUR LISTENING SKILLS BECAUSE I'VE TOLD YOU TO DO IT. SO GO. BEFORE YOU READ THIS CHAPTER. GO DO THE THING. A'KAY? WE ALL CLEAR? GOOD. LETS GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD THEN.

* * *

Returning from his trip, Sanderson was on high alert. He landed the plane, and began to cautiously make his way through the tunnels, glancing over his shoulder and peering into every nook in the hall. He'd really brought this one down upon himself. There was no way he'd be able to calm the Nightmare King this time. He would pound him into the sand. Literally.

About halfway down the hall, he noticed the dark sand curling it's way down the walls and floor. He shrank the width of the tunnel so he could touch both walls at the same time. Closing his eyes, Sandy channeled as much strength as he could into pushing the angry angst sand back into the main room so as not to affect the rest of the castle. He began walking down the hall, chasing every bit of the darker color behind the ornate doors at the end of the now rather small tunnel. He stood there for a moment, arms stretched out on both sides holding the walls, just staring at the filigree designs looping themselves around the sand-brushed entryway. There was a lot of anger seeping out of that room. A lot of hate. An abnormal amount, really, but what else should one expect from a man who'd been holed up inside his own misery for millennia upon millennia? The Sandman stood there for a few more long moments, steeling himself for what was to come. With one last deep and silent breath, he forced the doors open.

* * *

He winced as the doors opened, fully expecting a blunt object straight in the face immediately upon entry, but none came. Looking to the floor, he saw the black robes billowing over the tarnished gold. He let his tangerine eyes drift over the lanky body covered in the dark fabric, up to meet the blazing ones that topped it all off. A shiver ran down his spine, as one very well should when making eye contact with a shade of Pitch's caliber. Those furious eyes narrowed slightly, pale gold glinting in the light.

"I believe this is yours." His voice was so low, so monotonous, so disturbingly reserved. Sandy caught sight of the golden pouch caught tight in The Boogeyman's fist. It was terrifying, how polite and subdued he was being. It completely contradicted the seething darkness that coated the room.

It was only then that Sanderson glimpsed the always moonlit scythe resting against Pitch's back. He reached up tentatively to grab the pouch out of the taller man's hand, no longer meeting his eyes. He opened it up and looked into it, reflexively making sure none had been taken, before throwing it directly into the fire place, which lit while it was at the top of it's arc. He looked up, letting his gaze rest on the Boogeyman's lips instead of his eyes.

He signed a vague "I don't know what to tell you" and waited, watching those thin, dark lips like his life depended on it, which it very well may have.

At first, their corners twitched ever so minutely. Then slowly, as if he were mulling the action over in his mind, they curled back to reveal nightmarish teeth, sharp and uneven. Again, that eerily calm voice slipped past them, though this time it was fighting for control, like a feral dog chained to a tree. "I told you to leave me be, Sanderson."

The shorter man gulped and nodded vigorously. "You did," he signed. "I wanted almost as much as you did, to understand." He risked a glance into the shade's eyes, then looked back down to his hands. "I'm sorry," he said silently. He flinched at the snarl that followed. Pitch was a very unforgiving spirit; he knew that better than most. That didn't stop the fright he felt when the dark crescent blade entered his line of vision, held in preparation for execution.

"It is not your _place_ to understand. My personal matters are none of your business." The chain holding back that wolf in his voice had broken, and the spiteful growl it had become set Sandy's nerves on edge.

His wide jaw clenched in distress. He would love to be able to avoid death if at all possible in this situation. That would be nice. Problem was, he didn't know the words that would lead him down that path. He hadn't meant any harm, he'd just been doing what he did best, helping people with their problems the only way he knew how.

He shook his head while looking down in thought. 'I didn't mean to hurt anyone.' he thought. His more human impulse gave him an urge to cry, but his immortal self was very rational, and knew it would not solve the situation in any way shape or form. His eyes glimmered with those urges, but when he looked back up at the Nightmare King, there were no tears. "I know. I apologize," he signed slowly.

The taller spirit met his gaze, and there was fear in his eyes. There was anger there, too, of course, but a sort of terrified sorrow laced that fury. His bony fingers tightened and loosened on the pole several times in quick succession, before suddenly raising the weapon to the air above his head. Sandy watched in horror as Pitch sent his blade singing down towards him, and stared in confusion when it penetrated the sand beside his feet, mere millimeters away from them. There was a whisper. "I don't want your help."

Sanderson let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding, cliché as that was. After a few quick repetitions of inhalation and exhalation, he finally began relearning what it was like to possess coherent thought. He looked up from the shade's chest to his hardened gaze, before sinking to his knees, legs finally giving out. Genuine fear was not something that generally was felt by Sanderson Mansnoozie. I was foreign to him. He never needed it. He was always the more powerful being. Pitch Black was one of the very few that could bring his heart to such a fast pace, and make his ankles tremble. But that was his job, wasn't it? To bring people down to size? The Sandman could appreciate that. He didn't necessarily find it pleasing, but he could appreciate it's value.

He looked up once more, from his new place on the ground, and signed "Wanting help and needing help are two very different things."

The twist and shift of emotions that pulled at Pitch's face came as a surprise. Flashes of longing and hatred and sheer terror washed over his features before they settled into one mutual expression. He bared his teeth again, seemingly in an attempt to make anger his main emotion. It was painful to watch. "And what makes you think that I would trust _you,_ of all people?" The Boogeyman's usual menacing hiss hitched in his throat and matched the frantic confusion in his eyes.

Sandy bared his palms, finally sitting back on his haunches. His expression may have been worry, perhaps sadness, definitely nothing Pitch wanted to see, so he cleared the palate. Pulled a blank face as best he could.

"Nothing at all," he flashed.


	8. Forced Dreams

AHHH OKAY SORRY. SO SORRY. THIS IS PATHETIC. IT'S ALL MY FAULT WE HAVEN'T UPLOADED AND AHH I FEEL BAD. WE WENT TO A CON AND THEN I WAS MOVING AND THERE WAS SO MUCH HOMEWORK AND FORGIVE ME FOR I HAVE BLASPHEMED. OKAY. YEAH. YOU PROBS WANT TO READ NOW. GO AHEAD AND DO THAT DO. ((AND BTDUBS I'M REAL DISAPPOINTED IN YOU IF YOU HAVEN'T READ PITCH'S POV BY XXROCHIRYUZAKIXX BECAUSE THERE IS LITERALLY NOTHING ELSE I'VE TOLD YOU TO DO))

* * *

Sandy didn't know what he was expecting. Pitch was an odd, spontaneous spirit, and there was no guessing at his reactions. Whatever he had prepared for was not what he got. The Nightmare King only stared down at him, emotions racing across his shining gaze too fast to identify. His mouth twitched as if he wanted to speak, but settled in a deep frown. Suddenly, he spun on his heel and stalked towards the shadow.

Sanderson panicked. He couldn't leave. Not again. Not like this. He concentrated and quickly lit up the room, making all his sand glow brightly, so no shadows were cast. It was fairly blinding, actually. He had to squint. He watched as the shade put his hand over his eyes, turning frantically to find a shadow.

"SANDERSON, STOP THIS INSTANT. LET ME OUT," Pitch screamed. The Sandman winced in sympathy while he took to banging on an empty wall. He focused again and created a small room on the other side of the wall The Boogeyman was hitting furiously, and then let his sand crumble away under Pitch's fists so he didn't fall in face first. He was so frantic that he actually didn't notice that he was beating his way into the empty room.

Once he stepped through, Sandy built up the wall again, save for a small window of his compressed sand as glass. He dimmed the sand in the main room to its normal light, and let the brightness fade slightly in Pitch's small room so it wouldn't be _as_ blinding, but not low enough so that it would allow shadows to be cast. Sandy walked nervously up to the window, and winced again. Pitch was sitting in a corner with his head between his knees, visibly shaking, whether from anger or panic, he wasn't sure. Sanderson tried to think of ways to make the brightness easier for the shade. He couldn't physically control what Pitch could see. That wasn't any sort of magic he possesed. _How can I cover his eyes, but let him see? _the Guardian thought. He had a thought that made him giggle. He pulled his goggles out of his pocket, laughing silently to himself, and tinted the glass to a fairly dark shade. He opened up a small hole at the floor, and let the sand carry the goggles over to Pitch, and bumped him in the foot. Slowly, the shade lifted his head, brow furrowed over squinted eyes. He was still trembling, and his face was marred with pain. A weak hiss slipped through his teeth, but he reached for the goggles nonetheless.

Sandy stifled a few more giggles and walked off to make a bit of tea. He laced it with a hint of his sleeping powder, but didn't expect Pitch to drink it for quite a while. When he got back, the walls of Pitch's room had expanded slightly, making room for a bookshelf on the wall. Even though The Sandman had expected it, it still made him grimace slightly. This room was an add-on to his center chamber, and therefore, it began to change to the will of Pitch's subconscious. Sandy made sure to devote extra effort into keeping it lit. He let the tea in, and rested his head against the window. Pitch was glaring at him, and even with the goggles, he was extremely menacing. The Sandman began to question his sanity a little bit. If this didn't work, Pitch would slash him into pieces. Heck, Pitch might slash him into pieces even if it _did_ work.

They stayed like that for a long while, the tea sat untouched next to the shade, and the Guardian had made a chair to let him stay high enough to still look through the window. Pitch read a couple of books that had grown out all the way out, but from what Sandy could see, they were in no language from earth-and Sanderson would know, he'd learned all of them- but the shade breezed through them effortlessly. The only confusing part about that, was that Pitch didn't seem to know why he could read it either. He looked at the pages like they worried him deeply.

As Sandy thought about it, he pulled the tea cup out and went to brew another so it would be warm if The Boogeyman ever did decide to drink it. He was worried. He wouldn't be able to keep this light up forever. He needed to be able to sleep. His magic would fail, and Pitch would get out, and most likely kill him. He sat back down in his chair and watched lazily as a glass cabinet grew out of one of the corners of the room, and observed the beautiful detail of the armor that was inside it. A chair extremely similar to the one Pitch had in his cave grew as far as possible from the suit, facing away from it, and Pitch curled up into it, apparently trying to avoid looking at the shining golden metal.

Sanderson pushed the cup back in and kept it still as it rose on the table that grew beside the armchair. The Boogeyman looked at the cup wearily. He probably expected it to be drugged. Sandy felt a stab of despair. Of course he wouldn't drink it. This was all going to lead to a dead Guardian. Why hadn't he just left Pitch alone? He felt like an idiot. The Sandman was silently groaning into his hands when the man on the other side of the glass picked up the cup. Sandy stared in amazement as Pitch shot him a death glare, and downed the tea. He set down the mug, made himself comfortable in his chair, and closed his eyes. Sanderson smiled sleepily in relief. Now, he could sleep. As interested as he was in Pitch's dreams, his own health won out. He dreamt in his chair, with a smile on his face.


	9. The Sandman's Nightmare

OKEY DOKEY GUYS HERE YOU GO HERE'S THE THING SORRY IT'S SO LATE AND YOU KNOW, THIS IS MORE THAN HALF HEADCANON SANDY SO IF YOU'RE NOT DOWN FOR THAT THEN DON'T READ. **AND YOU KNOW IF YOU HAVEN'T CHECKED OUT XXROCHIRYUZAKIXX'S STORY FROM PITCH'S POV THEN I AM VERY DISSAPOINTED AND I HAVE NO MORE WORDS FOR YOU BECAUSE SHE'S FAB AND NEEDS PROPS CAUSE IT'S HER STORY AND I STOLE IT SO GO TELL HER THANK YOU FOR GIVING YOU SUCH A BEAUTIFUL GIFT.**

* * *

_It was aching. His whole body. All of it hurt. His frontal lobe was burning with pain; yet, it was all very familiar. _

'_Oh. it's just a dream from the past. It will end. I can go home soon. The pain will stop,' he thought, but maybe it wouldn't. _

'_Maybe all my friends were just the dream. Maybe I've been trapped in here all along.' He squeezed at his head. That was the trouble with being a dream spirit, you could never tell just which reality _was _real. _

_*whispering*_

_*whispering*_

'_Oh god the pain. Make it stop. Please.'_

_The man in the moon never listened._

'_Why did you make me like this?! why can't you make the pain go away?' he sobbed towards the sky_

_At least, he was fairly sure it was the sky. Maybe it was the ground. He couldn't be bothered to care which throbbing image was the correct one. The ache was all that mattered_

_*whispering*_

_*whispering*_

_*whispering*_

'_Please stop talking,' he thought to the voices. 'Why do you insist upon being so loud?!' _

_*yelling*_

_*screaming*_

_*whispering*_

_Everything around him was the color of a deep tarnish, an unwashable green, a disgusting dirt. 'I never asked for you. For any of this,' he whispered quietly to the gut wrenching color around him. 'He gave this to me with no permission of mine. Please just let me go back. Let me go back to my family.' His request was cut short by a new round of howling._

_*SCREAMING*_

_*SHOUTING*_

_*ARGUING*_

_*HELP US*_

'_WHY WOULD I HELP YOU?!' he screeched back at the voices. 'YOU HAVE DONE NOTHING BUT BRING ME PAIN. WHY DO _YOU _DESERVE _MY _HELP?! WHAT IS IT THAT MAKES ALL OF _YOU _SO SPECIAL? WHY DOES YOUR PLEASURE COME AT _MY _EXPENSE?' he bellowed. Turning towards the sky once more he asked none too quietly, 'WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU ANYWAY? WHY DID YOU FEEL I DESERVED THIS? AND ANYHOW, WHAT GIVE YOU THE RIGHT TO PUNISH ME SO?' He sobbed, on his hands and knees now, tears falling into the horrible shining color. 'What,' he breathed, 'Gives you the right?'_

*CRACKK*

The screeching of cracking glass woke Sanderson from his slumber. He was incredibly relieved for a moment that there was no trace of pain in him any longer, before he truly came to realize what it was that startled Sanderson into this version of his reality. The window before him had spiderweb cracks running very quickly through it. Sandy lept out of his seat to put his hands against it. He now focused all his concentration into containing the adrenaline filled King in his cage. All its' contents aside from him were glowing more brightly now, straining involuntarily with his renewed efforts. He tried desperately to ask Pitch to calm down, while slowly making the fractures in the invisible wall move from their previous path back into themselves.

Attempting to get his guest to look at him was, at the moment, an impossible task, however. The panic that the Sandman had seen in him before was now back with a renewed vigor. He simply would not stop pounding at the walls of the cell. With no better plan, he commanded the sand in the room reach out and drag him back to the chair, kicking and screaming. The problem with being in the sandman's domain, was that no matter how much sand you destroyed, more would replace it almost simultaneously. Sanderson made sure he was properly in the chair, albeit fighting, before completely fixing the glass.

The string of unintelligible phrases that shot from the shade's mouth only reminded him of the noise in his head. The screaming. Just trains of, "no don't you DARE keep me here I have to get out you have to let me OUT I can't do it anymore I don't WANT to remember I need to forget need to hide need to make it STOP you can't do this to me you can't DO THIS I need to getoutgetoutGETOUT STARS why are you DOING this to me" that never seemed to end.

Sanderson opened up a small door and walked in slowly. The shade was thrashing about in his chair, snarling and screaming, the noise drowning out all else. He walked up as close as he possibly could without being in reach of the taller man's snapping mouth, and sprinkled his powder in Pitch's direction. It was pure, unlike the stuff he normally used to induce a dream state. It was the stuff capable of knocking out the Man in the Moon, dead as a log, with no interfering dreams. As soon as it touched The boogey man, he was down for the count, and Sandy was definitely grateful for the silence. It wasn't all about him though, The Sandman was trying to protect Pitch Black from himself. Thrashing around like that, he was sure to strain his muscles, or even break bones, against the rigid sand, and at the very least, bite off his own tongue. It was Sand's fault he was here, he was going to try his best not to let him cause himself physical damage. Now, all he was left to do, was wait.


End file.
